


thy laurel, thy glory, the light of thy story

by SearchingforSerendipity



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Capital Yous as related to godliness, Grantaire's last prayer the night before the barricade, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Poetry, Prayer, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:37:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SearchingforSerendipity/pseuds/SearchingforSerendipity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>No. If one of us is Icarus, it is I. I have too much of myself to </em>
</p><p>Your flame, strove <em>too high.</em><br/><br/><em>My wings were of wax and liqueur. You melted the core out of me.</em><br/> <br/> <br/>or, Prayer to Apollo From a Cynic</p>
            </blockquote>





	thy laurel, thy glory, the light of thy story

 How You shine, Phoebus!

Brighter than any heavenly body has a right to,

You shine. And Your light burns my mortal eyes, burns my thin soul, finds cracks in this rusty armor.

I am no warrior, Golden One.

 

You stand before me now, O Driver of the Chariot,

You speak of righting wrongs, of crafting rights from the mud, the bloodied mud.

Eyes of celestial fire, like arrows they strike ever true. And set fire on human spirits with words of liberty, of equality, of

 _freedom_.

Bah! All I know of freedom is Your presence.

 

Blast You! Damn You! Fuck You!

You foolish idiot, You blessed rebel,

Warrior of all warriors, star of all stars.

Twilight flirts about You, and You will not _see!_

 

_Have you forgotten even Helius bows to Nix at night?_

 

It matters not. Nothing matters

Half as much as You, shining, spitting flames from Your red mouth,

Caressing embers.

Nothing matters as much as You, and You are soon to die.

 

Dust to dust to dust. Dirt,

more like, with maggots and bone and brain.

From womb to tomb, we are slaves to the stars. Cassius did not have the right of it,

after all.

Am I wrong, then? Are you perhaps bold Icarus, greedy for more than was his to take?

No. If one of us is Icarus, it is I. I have too much of myself to Your flame, strove too high.

My wings were of wax and liqueur. You melted the core out of me.

 

I sound like Prouvaire. Forgive me. I am but a mortal drunk on hope and spirits.

I am drunk, and You are soon to die.

 

(Tell me, Pithyon, what fair lies did the Oracle in Delphi whisper to your marbled ears?)

 

A drunken dream, all this. Pretty lies You weave, O Maker of Plagues, a steely web of hopeless

hope. You twist your golden words into anger, into love, and shove it down our throats, down tender necks

and tenderer hearts.

You are all fools. I love you all so.

 

~~I would make love to you, if you allowed it. I would worship you, my sun, my adored, my Enj--~~

 

Enough of this. Forgive me, I forget myself.

My pride is scarce,

You have me bare. I am Yours, unworthy though I might be.

A puny price, an ugly sacrifice for your hungry alter. All that I am, I offer to You. Drink me, and

be **terrible**.

You loathe me, as I well **know** ,

Not nearly as much as I revere you, and that is my meager comfort. In this argument, I will always

win.

 

Forgive me, I am drunk, weak, cowardly, desperate, I am drunk and you are soon to die.

 

I beg of you, O beloved, O God, I pray. P l e a s e, let me die _by_ your **side**. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Keat's poem 'Hymn to Apollo'. I own nothing.


End file.
